So I finally found a guru, and Sri Nisargadatta was his name.
Shocking, I know. Not his name (although that is somewhat exotic), or the fact that he was an Indian (a dead Indian, at that), but the fact that I had finally condescended to entertain the notion of a spiritual teacher.
I have never believed in teachers or gurus because I’ve always been convinced that if there’s something to be found I can find it myself, and not only that, but the beards, shaved heads, sandals, nuts, tofu and joss sticks tend to bring out the worst in me. Far from being seduced by their apparent “spirituality”, I’m more inclined to punch them in the throat and shout: “Get out of my face, hippy.”
That’ll be the “irritable, restless and discontented” aspect of my personality. One thing I know, though, is that my personality is not who I am, and as such is irrelevant and can be discarded: who I am has never changed; who I am cannot change.
Another thing that has always put me off is the complication of everything. If we already are what we are looking for, then why the endless ritual?
The reason that I had a spiritual awakening through the twelve steps was that they stripped away delusions that I’d been walking round with all my life. A lot of concepts were thrown out the window. Most of my beliefs collapsed under investigation. The more concepts we destroy, the more glaring the truth, yes?
Since that time I have been on a journey of destruction: there is only one thing I care about and that is the stripping away of everything.
If we strip away everything, we are left with the truth, and we are that.